A Hundred Movies
by Smeepalicious
Summary: Contemplative stream-of-consciousness drabblefic. "I suppose in the end, all that Shinou Heika was to Murata Ken was an idol: the character you saw in a movie in your childhood and swore to love forever."


**This was written at self-imposed gunpoint. I am MAKING myself write again. You should all help me in my quest to write again by reviewing this fic, no matter how bad, good, or indifferent you thought it was. I'm setting a goal for myself: at least one published item each week. If you care at all, poke me until I do it. If there's something you want to see, tell me and poke me until I do it.**

**ON WITH THE CONTEMPLATIVE DRABBLE!**

**(Set right after the end of Season 2. I haven't started Season 3 yet, so NO SPOILERS or I will infect you with Soul Cancer.)**

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It's like watching a hundred movies and always sympathizing with the main character.

Well, that's not entirely right. It's like… not a bunch of different movies, exactly… more like a series. Like Doctor Who—oh, but I guess you don't know what that is, do you? It's a show on the television… yes, you saw it at Yuri's house. That glowing box that shows pictures. Anyway, there are shows, like picture stories, and there's one about a time-traveler named the Doctor, and over the years they change the actors who play him, and not just the actors, either—the entire character changes. He still remembers everything, goes on the same adventures, fights the same villains and works towards the same ultimate goal, but he's a whole new person every time.

Except… that's not quite right either. I'm not like the Doctor. I'm not really the main character at all. He—Shinou—was always the main character. Even when he was absent; four thousand years he was gone, and I… well, they… we always knew he was here, but, well, not really. I… they… would have come for him, but who can hold a memory? That's all he really was, at that point. All he really is anymore. He was always the one guiding me… or us… always the one who was in the back of our mind. Whether we liked it or not.

There were some of us who had it rough. They say your sexuality is genetic; we… well, I'd be inclined to agree. Most of us were lucky, since the memories were there for our entire lives, and helped to shape at least part of who we are. But Earth was never quite as progressive as Shin Makoku. Those of us who let ourselves be shaped by the memories were ostracized for it; some of us were burnt or beaten or killed. Then there were those of us who rejected it completely. It was always hardest for those of us who were straight. Beyond the confusion of loving someone emotionally who you could never love in that other essential way; beyond the frustration of loving a ghost from a distant past in a world you could never reach alone; beyond the humiliation and anger at having never had a choice… well, what could really be beyond that, come to think of it? There was always loneliness, but for the straight ones it was worse, because we couldn't even find comfort in other partners, closing our eyes and whispering "Heika" and imagining blond hair and that infuriating smirk…

You never looked much like Rufus. I can see the resemblance now, of course. Your voice, your face, your demeanor; they are all very much von Bielfelt characteristics. But your hair, your build, your eyes… I mistook you, the first time I met you. So often I'm grateful for these glasses of mine, they can hide my emotions when I need them to. I've gotten the hang of finding a light source and moving my face, and so easily the glasses become a mask… I can't quite remember what I felt first when I saw you. Was it the surprise first, or the agony? The rage? The confusion? No, the confusion came second, along with a bit more rage—you had spoken, in that officious little way of yours. Oh, don't deny it; you can be quite the little brat at times. At first I thought you'd changed. No, not you, I suppose—I thought that _he'd _changed. He was always commanding, yes, and just a bit condescending, but never pompous. Everyone was beneath him, but in a strange way; a way that was somehow… okay. Because he knew it, and you knew it, and everyone else knew it too; because it was never anything but true. It was something that radiated off of him. You had to follow him, obey him, make his kingdom yours, because nothing that originated from this shining creature could be anything but glorious, as brilliant as the sun. You've felt it too, I know. You've looked at Yuri from time to time and just felt like you needed to shield your eyes or the light would blind you, that you would walk around for the rest of your days with a purple spot in your vision in the shape of him and see his outline shift behind your eyelids any time you blink. You've felt that instinctive need to squint and turn away, combated by your heart just screaming out to look, _look, dammit_, to stare and stare until death drags your eyes away. And there are other times when he shines—because he always shines, he can never stop—but more softly, and that harsh brilliance becomes a gentle sparkle; you can follow him like a navigator on the ocean follows a northern star or the glimmer of a harbor town on the horizon, that light that winks at you warmly: _'home, home, home…'_

I can't say I regret it. How could I? He was dying. In many ways… the ways that counted… he was already dead. I knew what had to be done, because he had foreseen it all—he, with that wisdom that none of the many 'me's could ever hope to match, for all our useless titles. Still, there were moments I thought of letting it happen. Would it be enough to serve him once again, this beast of darkness who was all that was left of the man I once followed like a star? But on the steps of the temple… I saw you. For a moment I couldn't see the color of your eyes, or the too-broad stretch of your mouth, couldn't hear your voice: all I could see was the face of someone who once belonged to me, with love and relief in your eyes in the moment before you saw Soshu in his… and I missed him so.

I suppose in the end, all that Shinou Heika was to Murata Ken was an idol: the character you saw in a movie in your childhood and swore to love forever. You plastered his face in posters on your wall, memorized his every line, his every facial expression, and cried for hours when the actor who played him died in a drunken car crash after the Oscar party on his way back to the hotel with a B-actress who just wanted to make it big. And besides—Shinou hasn't been the main character for four thousand years. There's a new main character now.

And the world only needs one sun.


End file.
